Dark Reflections
by xxlostdreamerxz
Summary: AU: Fudge foolishly orders the Dementor's kiss on Harry Potter. What if due to a freak accident, Harry doesn't lose his soul only a piece of it? PreHBP
1. The Trial

**Dark Reflections**

**By**: xxlostdreamerxz

* * *

**Chapter 1: The Trial**

* * *

It was the third of December when the Ministry of Magic, in all of its glory, implemented a plan that left even its most fervent supporters gapping in utter disbelief. Even in a world whose sheer existence defied the rules of logic, there was a fine line between eccentricity and utter stupidity. And much to the dismay of the general public, Minister Fudge had crossed the line one too many times. Especially when he broke the rule that surmounted all rules...

He had ordered the Dementor's kiss upon Harry Potter, the boy-who-freaking-ruined-his-campaign.

To say that the public was_ outraged_ was putting it lightly. But alas, Fudge was hardly the sort of wizard who rubbed elbows with any _normal_ witches or wizards on the street; the only company he consistently had contact with were the rich and the powerful. Thus, he was unaware that he was systematically destroying his chances of reelection with every speech he gave bashing the Boy-Who-Lived. It didn't help that, just recently, Fudge had been forced to reveal You-Know-Who's return to power after their run in with Harry Potter in the Department of Mysteries.

And it was completely Harry Potter's fault.

Fudge had concluded, shaking with barely suppressed anger that the Potter boy was a nuisance, nothing but a constant thorn in his back. _A thorn that he should have destroyed from the start. _And loath as he was to admit it, Fudge knew that had he gotten rid of the boy earlier...his entire political career would have been much simpler. This whole smear campaign had "nothing" to do with the fact that the boy destroyed his entire life. Oh, no indeed.

But, as of today, his luck _finally _seemed to be looking up.

Two weeks ago, he and his Aurors had secretly broken into number 11 Privet Drive and apprehended the Boy-Who-Lived. Looking back, Fudge had to admit that his plan had worked out far better than he expected. The Potter brat, surprisingly enough, had barely batted an eyelash when he was told that he was going to be sent to Azkaban. He simply sat there, the corner of his lip curling at the irony, as his Aurors slapped on a pair of magic-repelling handcuffs. It was a bit eerie since Fudge _had_ expected some form of a struggle from the brat...

...after all, it _was_ Azkaban.

It was then that Fudge actually_ looked_ at the Potter boy. The boy's face was pale and thin, with sickly dark circles under his eyes; the boy was also dressed in a strange, ratty old tee shirt that was three sizes too big. Even Fudge, with his agenda against the boy, couldn't help but feel a twinge of uncertainty as the boy shrugged lightly before the army of Aurors and resumed staring at the ceiling. It was...almost as if the boy had lost the will to live. Like as if...he had wanted to die.

Shaking his head lightly, Fudge pushed his thoughts aside. It didn't matter how the boy had acted nor looked. It would be of the past soon enough.

For in a matter of minutes, Harry James Potter was to be kissed by one of the foulest creatures on the planet and with it suffer a fate worse then death.

* * *

**X**

* * *

"Harry James Potter, you have been brought here before us today to stand trial for your crimes," a dark-haired judge recited, as he motioned towards the three other individuals next to him. "Our glorious Minister Fudge has kindly provided you with three witnesses to stand in as the jury and a lawyer to cross examine you."

The boy remained silent with his eyes fixed upon a crack in the stone floor.

The judge raised an eyebrow at the boy's unresponsive behavior, but continued nevertheless. "You have been brought here on the charges of murdering one Cedric Diggory, breaking into the Ministry, sensationalizing, and plotting against the government," he said carefully emphasizing each and every point. "The charge of murder would of course guarantee you a lifetime in Azkaban, if proven true of course," the judge added quickly. "And with the additional charges in play, you would be subjected to the Dementor's Kiss.

Harry shrugged. He supposed that his soul was safer in a Dementor's stomach then in the afterlife. After all, what would his parents and Sirus say about him? He couldn't face their disappointment or their hate...

"Do you understand?"

Harry glanced up for the first time since the beginning of the trail. "As a matter of fact, I don't," he said flatly, as his empty green eyes bored into the judge's brown ones, causing the older man to flinch. "From what I recall, don't trails with as much weight as this tend to be judged by the Wizengamot?"

The judge shivered slightly as but quickly recollected his writs. "Of course not Mr. Potter, the Wizengamot is not in session this time of year. Hence, it falls under the jurisdiction of Minister Fudge to appoint the court."

Harry's lip curled in a dry smirk. So that was it, eh? This entire fake court scheme was just for petty revenge? _Pathetic._

The judge tugged at the collar of his robes as his breathing quickened. He couldn't help but notice that Harry Potter was by far different then the golden-boy that the media made him out to be. The boy was...imperturbable. In all his years as a judge, he had never met a client _shrugged_ aside the idea of Azkaban. It was absurd! According to Fudge, Potter was Dumbledore's golden boy. There was truly nothing special about Potter, save for his famous scar and bloody luck.

But now, for the first time, he was starting to realize how wrong he was.

As he met the Boy-Who-Lived's jaded emerald green eyes, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of fear. Perhaps there _was_ more to the boy then meets eye. Perhaps it wasn't luck that allowed Potter to survive all his encounters with You-Know-Who relatively unscathed. The boy before him wasn't the warm, kind Gryffindor that he had expected to see. The Potter boy was cold, collected, and fearless...

One of the witnesses coughed loudly as he waited for the Judge to regain his bearings. "May we proceed?" he asked politely, his distinctly aristocratic accent resounding about the room.

The judge gave the witness a weak smile. "My apologizes," he stated, as he forced his eyes away from the biting emerald green glaze. "Now back to the topic at hand," the judge took a deep breath as he regained his cool. "...Mister Potter, we are here today to test your innocent upon the matter. If you are pronounced innocent by the court you shall be returned back to your home without further ado. But if you are found guilty..."

"My soul will be lynched by a Dementor," finished Harry dryly.

The witness that spoke earlier gave Harry a scathing glare. "Hold your tongue, boy," he said sternly.

Harry glanced over at the witness and raised an eyebrow.

The judge sighed as he waved aside the comments. "Yes, mildly put," he said stiffly, as he slouched back against his chair. "Now if you will, lets get this farce over with," he all but pleaded. Good pay or no, he should have known better than to accept this case from Minister Fudge. He sighed. After all, as far as Minister Fudge was concerned, anything related to Harry Potter was doomed to fall into disaster.

* * *

**X**

* * *

"Mr. Potter, where were you the night Cedric Diggory was killed?"

Harry snorted. "I've told you all this before," he said in annoyance. "The Triwizard cup turned out to be a Portkey and teleported the two of us to a graveyard near the Riddle's house. And then Wormtail," he spat, "killed Cedric."

The lawyer raised an inquiring eyebrow. "And where do you fall in all this?" he drawled. "You were in the graveyard too were you not?"

"Yes."

"But then why didn't you try and save the boy?" drawled the lawyer, as his eyes glittered with triumph. "I find it hard to believe that the glorious Harry Potter would stand aside and allow a Death Eater commit murder."

Harry's eyes darkened. "Mr. Aesir," he said softly, as he glanced towards the pompous looking lawyer. "Have you ever seen or used the killing curse before?"

The lawyer blinked. "No, of course not."

"Then you must be aware, Mr. Aesir," said Harry as a flicker of old pain resurfaced. "That the is nothing in the world that could stop the killing curse Nothing. No shield, no spell. Once the curse is cast the only way to survive is to dodge it._"_

"How is this relevant?"

Harry looked distinctly amused. "And how is it not?" he retorted. "How could I have possibly saved Cedric's life if there was no spell, charm, or shield that could block it?"

Aesir sputtered. "Why Mr. Potter," he said, his voice taking a light chiding tone. "No need to act so defensively, after all I wasn't accusing you of anything was I?" The man gave a heartily laugh and slapped Harry on the back.

The boy's entire composure stiffened, as eyes darkened. Had Aesir been a smarter man, or more practical for the matter, he would have wisely backed away. For the times have not been kind on Harry. He was but a boy who had learned from a young age to hide his emotions even from himself. Though given the right incentive, such emotions would bubble to the surface, revealing the wizard that truly existed beneath the shell.

A wizard that was truly equal (or perhaps greater) in power to the Dark Lord.

"So tell me, Mr. Potter," said Aesir, his voice oozing with curiosity. "Which side do you support?" seeing the expression on Harry's face, the man quickly explained. "Just to set the record straight of course," he said sounding a little panicked. "After all, during the past year there have been rumors and all about you turning Dark."

Harry glared. "I support no one but myself," he hissed, his temper getting the better of him. "I am no pawn - whether it may be for Dumbledore, Voldemort, or the Ministry," he spat bitterly, as he recalled his last few minutes in Dumbledore's office.

The lawyer looked as if Christmas had come early. "I agree," he said placating. "You are your own person of course, Mr. Potter. You needn't listen or obey anyone else's law or rules correct?"

Harry nodded dimly, as the image of Sirus falling through the veil replayed over and over again in his mind.

"Even if it's an established custom of the wizarding world?" he prodded. "You would change the world just on a whim?"

The boy snapped back to reality. "What?"

Aesir rolled his eyes. "What I mean Mr. Potter, is whether you think you are above the law."

Harry blinked at the unexpected question. "O-of course not."

"Why the stutter?"

"Because you just channeled Snape," Harry mumbled to himself, well aware that the court case was being recorded.

"Pardon?"

"There was no reason for it," said Harry in annoyance. "I was just surprised by your question."

The lawyer prodded further. "But then what do you have to say for regarding your past record?" Seeing Harry's closed expression, he elaborated, "Performing two cases of underage magic, lying to the Minister about the criminal Sirus Black, planting your name in the Goblet of Fire, suspect to the death of one Cedric Diggory, giving sensitive information out to the public, breaking and entering the Department of Mysteries..." Aesir paused an took a deep breath. "Need I go on?"

"How do you plead Mr. Potter?"

Harry's mouth dropped open as he stared dumbly at Aesir. After a moment of silence, he managed to find his tongue. "Innocent on all accounts, except for the last."

"Breaking and entering you mean?"

"Correct."

Aesir leaned forward. "If I may ask, Mr. Potter, what were you doing in the Ministry of Magic so late at night..." he asked. "...in You-Know-Who's presence?"

"Fighting him of course!" yelled Harry, whose anger had finally reached simmering point. "Why are you so persistent in trying to prove that I am a Death Eater? I have done more for the Light's cause throughout my lifetime than the entire Ministry has! He killed my parents! He destroyed my life! Why in the name of hell would I want to join that psychopath!"

"Because you are not mentally sane," replied Aesir. "Over the past year there have been a number of speculations regarding your mental health - something about your scar perhaps?"

Harry rose to his feet. "I am not _insane!_" he said harshly. "My scar gives me visions of what the Voldemort is up to!"

The lawyer smirked darkly. "So let's say that I do believe in these so called _visions_ of yours, Mr. Potter," he drawled, causing Harry to bristle in anger. "If you are so aware of the Dark Lord's movements and plans, why haven't you given any information to the Ministry?"

"Because they wouldn't believe me!" spat Harry. "For the past year your precious Ministry has done nothing but slander me and hide the fact that Voldemort has returned!"

The lawyer glanced at the judge. "Is this substantial enough as proof for the crime of sensationalizing and propagating false information to the public?"

The judge nodded.

"Wait what are you talking about?" snapped Harry, his emerald green eyes swimming with confusion. "I haven't sensationalized or propagated anything!"

"The Ministry," said Aesir slowly, "has over the past year been preparing for Voldemort' return. We have been building up an army so to speak, under a cloak of secrecy that you've breached when you informed the public about the Dark Lord's return."

Harry snorted. "Then tell me why Fudge was so shocked when he saw Voldemort there in the Atrium?"

The lawyer exchanged an uneasy glance with the other men. "That is not for me to say, Mr. Potter," he said finally. "If you truly wish to know, you'd have to ask Minister Fudge himself."

Harry snorted again. Yeah right. Fudge would probably rather see the Voldemort than him at the moment, nevertheless answer any questions. He'd been tossed in Azkaban faster than you could blink.

* * *

**X**

* * *

**2 hours later: Azkaban:**

"Mr. Potter, you have been found guilty on all accounts," read one of the men in Fudge's entourage. "You will be subjected to the Dementor's kiss as of today, June 21, 1984."

Harry remained quiet. He wasn't going to give Fudge any pleasure by begging. Death was Death. He knew he was bound to die sometime. Though at any rate, he _had_ always imagined that it would be by Voldemort's hand not the Ministry.

His lips curled at the irony.

He couldn't help but wonder whether Voldemort was going to blast the Ministry apart of its audacity. After all, according to the Voldie, Harry was _his_ to kill, _his_ to torture. Harry personally couldn't help but feel a glimmer of dark anticipation as he imagined Voldemort frying Fudge's ass.

"Do you have any last words?"

A flicker of sadness crossed his eyes. "Tell my friends that I am sorry for leaving. And that, I'll try to find a way back."

Fudge chortled. "Touching Mister Potter," he said in amusement. "Though I have to admit the sentiment would not be reciprocated by your so-called friends."

"What did you do to them!" demanded Harry, his emerald green eyes focused upon Fudge. "If you hurt them..."

"Hurt them?" repeated Fudge, as he burst out laughing ."Why would I want to hurt my own _subordinates_?" he drawled, emphasizing the last word. Seeing the now horrified expression on Harry's face, he ruthlessly continued. "Yes, Potter, that's correct. They have been working for me since the beginning, since the day they met you. I wanted access you see," he explained, his eyes lighting up at his own genius. "A way to influence the precious Boy-Who-Lived and infiltrate Dumbledore's precious Order. So what better way than through his friends?" Fudge's eyes glittered with enjoyment as he rose to his feet and made his way to the door. "Well, Potter, I guess this is goodbye for good," he said snidely, his smile growing at the pest's hurt expression. "Enjoy."

Harry stared after Fudge, his eyes glazed with pain. 'T-they betrayed me?' Cold, the room was getting colder. And yet for the first time in his life, Harry did not _feel_ the cold. He felt numb?

"There's the prisoner," stated the official as he motioned the Dementor forward, before he hastily retreating. "Do whatever you wish."

The Dementor released a loud hair-rising scream as it all but flew towards the prone figure on the ground. Harry didn't move at all, his eyes staring blankly forward. Even as the Dementor lowered his hood, Harry made no attempt to escape.

Death was no consequence to him now. After all, what was there to live for? He wanted it to end - all the pain, the suffering, and the hate. Harry's eyes glimmered with an inner hope as he watched the Dementor's mouth come closer and closer.

Soon it would be over...

Harry had no idea how wrong he was.

The moment the Dementor planted the Kiss, Harry's eyes closed as he felt his soul begin to depart. It was a strange feeling, he had thought idly. It felt...itchy. As if something inside of him was stretching and stretching. Harry frowned. Couldn't he even _die_ in peace?

The Dementor let out a screech of frustration as it clamped its mouth down harder.

Harry felt himself get lighter. It was a strange feeling, so to speak. It felt as if he was floating, as if he hadn't but a care in the world.

And then, it snapped. Half of Harry's soul that is.

The half that regulated all his emotions and his morals. The half of him that was essential Gryffindor was sucked into the Dementor. The Slytherin half - the side that Harry had feared to utilize his entire life - was all that was left.

And it is here that Harry's journey begins. A tale of treachery, pain, and of course revenge against the fools that destroyed his life. A tale that would perhaps dispute all the fundamental aspects of magic, love, and loyalty.

After all, emotions are but a hindrance, no?

* * *

**TBC...**


	2. Puppets

**Dark Reflections**

By: xxlostdreamerxz

Disclaimer: No I do not own, HP.

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**Chapter 2: Puppets**

* * *

"Toss the body into the ocean," ordered Fudge, as he watched with grim satisfaction as the boy-who-lived's soul disintegrated. A strange feeling over came him, as the Potter brat died. The corners of Fudge's lips twitched. It was enlightening, it was beautiful, it made him want to break out in song and do the jig. 

Ah...but of course, that wouldn't do for a man of _his_ caliber. So Fudge settled for a wide toothy smile that could probably give Lockhart a run for his money. It wasn't just a great day, it was _the_ day for success.

"B-But Minister, what about the public?" stuttered one of his stooges. "Wouldn't they want to see Potter's body?"

Fudge paused for a moment. "Naw, that wouldn't do. I am positive that Dumbledore would probably evoke some sympathy from the public regarding Potter if they saw the body," he stated hesitantly, as he racked his brain for a solution. Fudge's smile turned sly. "But of course, in an act of generosity and sympathy the Ministry decided to revoke the Dementor's Kiss on the Potter brat, and instead sentence him to Azkaban for 50 years."

"Brilliant!" another stooge piped up. "You're genius precedes you Minister Fudge!"

Fudge grinned and gave a hearty chuckle. "I know." He glanced over at his two Aurors. "On second thought, forget about the ocean. I want you to toss Potter's body into the highest security cell in Azkaban. Should anyone wish to visit him, tell them that Potter is deadly and dangerous; hence, it would not do to put anyone at risk."

"B-But what about Dumbledore?"

The Minister waved the question away. "Even if the old fool decides to visit his precious pawn, there would be no way for him to figure out that Potter had been given the kiss. He would probably just assume that the Dementors have driven Potter mad." Fudge snicker once again. "Of course, it wasn't like the boy was _sane_ to start with."

All his stooges burst out in laughter at their employer's words. Sure it wasn't funny, but if laughing would get them in Fudge's good graces, then they would laugh as hard as a donkey. Whenever and wherever.

Tis the life of a politician.

* * *

**A New Dark Lord?**

By: Stan Schemed

_On June 21, the Ministry of Magic has successfully placed a menace_

_behind bars. That's right folks, Harry James Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived,_

_has turned away from the Light. "I always knew that something was wrong_

_with Potter," stated Ron Weasley, a former companion of the Boy-Who-lived. _

_"I hung around him to catch him in the act." And the court has deemed,_

_Mister Potter guilty of the following charges: murder, Dark Magic,_

_and lastly involvement with You-Know-Who himself. "I mean, you couldn't_

_help but wonder how Potter just managed to always on the scene when the_

_Dark Lord is present," drawled Lucius Malfoy, a respectable Ministry representative._

_"Most likely the boy was working hand in hand with You-Know-Who since the_

_beginning!" Could Harry Potter have been Voldemort's dark heir in training?_

_Investigations are pending... _

* * *

**Azkaban**: 

In an island far off the coast of Scotland, a pair of jaded emerald green eyes blinked open. Thick cobwebs and moss lined the decaying gray walls that surrounded his person. His eyes closed momentarily as he processed his surroundings with interest.

How curious, was this what death was like?

Harry craned his neck slightly to get a better view. Four towering cloaked figures with decaying gray skin hovered beyond the line of thick ebony bars. _Dementors_, his mind supplied in a distinctly calm manner. _Soul suckers._

He was suppose to be afraid. After all, didn't he use to fall into a paralyzed stupor whenever such creatures entered his range? Harry's lips curled into a thoughtful frown as a few memories of the past hour flickered across his mind.

_"Why would I want to hurt my own subordinates? They have been working for me since the beginning, since the day they met you." _

Harry paused, as he analyzed the memory more closely. Fudge had been happy, sadistically happy that is, when he tore the him to pieces emotionally. But, strangely enough he couldn't detect a hint of a line in the portly man's eyes or demeanor. Harry bit his lip thoughtfully. So it was true. The Weasley's and Hermione were both spies from the Ministry.

_"I wanted access you see...a way to influence the precious Boy-Who-Lived and infiltrate Dumbledore's precious Order. So what better way than through his friends?"_

He had to give Fudge his due, it had been one hell of a plan. Harry admitted that back then his friends would have been the last ones he would ever suspect. A slow smile drew across his face, perhaps given the right incentive, Fudge had a better chance to defeat Voldemort than Dumbledore ever would. The spying idea was bloody brilliant!

Well...at least it would have been had everything worked according to plan. His lips curled at the irony. Of all people, (after Voldemort of course) Fudge should have learned that _nothing_ ever worked out when he, the-boy-who-lived was involved.

Harry tore his glaze away from the Dementors, and returned to staring at the ceiling. Azkaban truly wasn't that bad, for the time being that is. It provided him with not only failsafe method of evaluating the so-called 'painful' memories of his past, but also time to lay out his schemes. A frown crossed his face as one of the Dementors shrilled furiously and tried to stick its head between the bars.

He shrugged lightly. His failsafe method of reviewing his past by utilizing the Dementor's natural ability of evoking dark memories. Normally, a 'victim' would be overwhelmed by such blatantly painful recalls of the past; however, seeing as how he had become impervious to emotions...Harry decided to take advantage of the situation.

After all, he might as well use his time _productively._

A slightly gleam entered his eyes, as another memory flickered across his mind. A memory that consisted of one Harry James Potter thrashing Dumbledore's precious office. His lips twitched with amusement, as he laid back patiently.

_Dumbledore._

The bloody idiotic headmaster wouldn't allow him to rot away here. Harry's smile grew at the thought. No, Dumbledore _needed_ him to defeat Voldemort. He need his pawn. And for the first time in his life, Harry decided that it wouldn't be so bad to...follow Dumbledore's directions for the moment. Let the headmaster think he was in control. Let Dumbledore believe that his pawn was so severely traumatized from Azkaban that he'd follow blindly.

A dark spark entered his eyes.

'Dumbledore, you will soon learn that even a puppet can play with your strings."

* * *

**Ministry of Magic:**

A tall wizard in a pair of exotic blue robes strolled furiously into the Ministry of Magic, with a newspaper clutched tightly within his fist. Sparks of magic flared dangerously about his person, as he marched up the winding staircase to the Minister's office. A pair of Aurors stood on guard before the room; Aurors that had foolishly tried to stop him from entering; Aurors that now lay slumped against the floor as they sleep their horrors away.

"Fudge! What is this!" he demanded, tossing the newspaper onto the Minister's desk, purposely upsetting Fudge's precious silverware and morning tea. Gone were his polite mask, his cheery humor, his lemon drops. Gone were all the things that one normally associated with the great Albus Dumbledore. "What do you mean Harry's in Azkaban!"

The Minister gave Dumbledore a glare, as he drew his wand and cleaned his desk. "Albus, please, take a seat," he offered calmly. "As you have undoubtedly noticed," he said grimly, as he motioned towards Dumbledore's crumpled copy of the Daily Prophet. "Harry Potter has been declared a criminal and a threat by the Ministry. A threat that we have contained as of yesterday, when be placed him in Black's old high-security cell."

Dumbledore counted slowly to ten, as he slowly regained his composure. After all, it would do him no good if he accidentally blasted Fudge into itsy-evil-bits. Though, as he caught the pleased glint in Fudge's eyes, it would have made him feel distinctly better. "Minister you have no idea what you have just done," he said quietly, as he narrowed his sapphire blue eyes. "Voldemort has risen to power and has had over a year to prepare his takeover. And you, Minister, have taken away our only chance of victory!"

Fudge's eyes widened in surprise before he quickly composed himself. "Honestly, Dumbledore," he said with a deep chuckle, "You don't truly believe that the Potter boy could save us from You-Know-Who himself do you?" The Minister lifted his cup and took a delicate sip, as his lips curled decisively. "He is only a spoiled brat who has too much luck for his own good. He wouldn't last a minute against You-Know-Who!"

The headmaster sighed loudly. "Minister, you do have to take into account that Harry had faced You-Know-Who four times and survived with his life intact. Few, if any, could attest to such a fleet."

Fudge shrugged. "Like I said, luck."

He took a deep breath and played his last card. "Minister, did you know that there was a prophecy made regarding Harry and Voldemort?"

"What!" sputtered Fudge, as he spat out his tea. Prophecies were important business! Nothing could get in their way, _nothing_. Not even death could destroy its bonds. "Why didn't you tell me this earlier!" he demanded, as he wiped the spilled tea from his chin, shooting Dumbledore a furious glare.

Albus sighed mentally. "Because it was extremely sensitive information, Minister," he said carefully, "There have been numerous spies in the Ministry in the past, and I didn't deem it safe to distribute the knowledge."

Fudge turned a nasty shade of red. "But I'm the Minister of Magic!" he stated smugly, "_I_ could have kept a secret!"

Dumbledore forced himself to not snort. "Of course," he said in a calm voice. "But I did not wish to place you in mortal danger, Minister," he said forcing his voice to turn slightly reluctant. "By knowing the prophecy, you would have been undoubtedly in danger. After all," he said evenly, "Voldemort was determined to get the prophecy at whatever the cost. Even if it meant breaking into the Department of Mysteries last year..."

The Minister's face turned ashen. "...and if I had known the prophecy, he would have come after me," he finished shakily.

"Correct."

Fudge shivered lightly, before attempting to give Dumbledore a light smile. "Tell me Dumbledore, the prophecy...did it...say something about Potter defeating the You-Know-Who?"

Albus nodded. It was a white lie. Nothing harmful at the least.

"Gads," he gasped, before slumping back against his leather chair. Fudge ran a shaky had through his hair, as his thoughts flew back to his actions a mere three hour ago. Had he doomed the wizarding world to a rule by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named? Fudge felt slightly faint. Gads...what would he do when You-Know-Who took over! He was a politician for god's sake! He shivered once again; he was doomed...

"So you see, you must revoke Harry's sentence," prodded Dumbledore, as he leaned forward to face the shaking man. "The life and very existence of the wizarding world is in your hands! If you don't release him, our world would fall..." He forced himself to give Fudge a sympathetic look. "And I have a feeling that Voldemort wouldn't take well if you hurt his nemesis...you understand?"

Fudge turned deathly white.

"We _need_ Harry to win this war," he urged, his sapphire blue eyes sparkling with desperation. "The prophecy deemed it so. As you know, there is no way to get around it. Harry _must_ be released."

Fudge glanced fearfully at the window. "I...I..." he stuttered, before blurting out a quick, "...I can't! It's almost October!"

Dumbledore frowned for a moment as he digested Fudge's words, before it hit him. October was when the voters voted for the next Minister of Magic. Groaning mentally, he forced himself to continue in the same sympathetic tone, "All the more reason to do so, Minister," he explained, "By releasing Harry you show the world that you are strong enough to stand against the crowd. To make decisions that are necessary. And lastly, it shows them that you have _mercy._" Dumbledore paused purposely, as he let Fudge digest his words. "I know for a fact that voters _loath_ heartless individuals who would do something as horrible as convict a _child_ to Azkaban..."

"Alright, Alright! I'll do it!" yelled a frustrated Fudge, as he quickly scribed a note on a piece of parchment and handed it over to Dumbledore. "Take this note to the Auror department, and as soon as we have verified the conditions, the boy shall be freed."

Albus opened his mouth to protest.

"But get out! I never want to see you again! Out! Get OUT!"

Dumbledore bowed his head in agreement. "Very well, Minister," he said politely, as he made his way to the door and pulled on his cloak. "Thank you for your time..."

"GET OUT!"

Albus barely had enough time to close the door before Fudge's precious china tea set was hurled towards him. He raised an eyebrow as a loud moan and groan escaped from Fudge's office.

Okeey...now he was positive, Fudge had _issues._

* * *

A/N: Yeah! I finished! - Just in time too, I'm leaving for Europe in a matter of 6 days! lolll...so here's a fic to keep you company! Alright, here's to my other fics. I plan on updating Darkly Treacherous sometime in January and at latest February seeing as how my finals are in January. And Icy Destiny I'm stuck, sooo...err...be patient. Well, that's about it, for some strange reason I don't feel very verbose today. So i'll just get to the point: i am NOT deserting any of my fics; I plan on finishing them sometime in the future! So stick with me here! grins well, that's it! Happy Holidays! 

xxlostdreamerxz

P.S. Thanks for the help on Crime and Punishment! You're all the best!


	3. The So Called Rescue

**Dark Reflections**

**By:** xxlostdreamerxz

**Disclaimer:** No, I do not own HP.

* * *

**Chapter 3: The So-Called 'Rescue'**

* * *

Dumbledore shivered slightly as the small boat slowly neared Azkaban. He resisted the urge to pull his purple robes tighter about his person, instead focusing his attention on the pale twitching figure next to him. 

_Merlin...what has the wizarding world come to that such incompetence is reveled instead of feared? _

For the Minister of Magic, one Cornelius Fudge, was huddled against the furthest edge of the rowboat, his entire body radiating the fear of a cornered animal. While his Aurors, proud as they were, knelt about their leader's frightened form with their arms outstretched, offering candy and other such sugary gifts.

"Cornelius?" Dumbledore said quietly as the rowboat came to an abrupt stop landing softly in the sand, causing the younger man to squeak in fright and almost topple out. "Let's proceed. The less time Harry spends in Azkaban the better."

The Minister nodded doggedly, scampering out of the boat nervously.

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow at the man's uncharacteristic behavior, but remained silent. After all, Dementors were horrid creatures, mind you...

"The Prophecy you mentioned Dumbledore," Fudge managed to stutter out, his eyes dark with fear, as their small entourage slowly made their way up the hill, the dark forbidding gate of Azkaban rising up to meet them. "I-is there a chance perhaps that you've somehow...misinterpreted it?"

Dumbledore instantly bent down and glared at the man. "Cornelius, you shouldn't speak of it," he hissed softly. "Even if you don't know the full content, the fact that you even know _anything_ would be enough to draw Voldemort's attention."

The entire squadron of Aurors flinched in fear.

Fudge likewise squeaked, before nodding his head violently. "Of course, headmaster. I completely forgot," he whispered, turning around as if fearing You-Know-Who might suddenly appear. "But...how sure..."

The headmaster sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose in annoyance. "I'm positive, Cornelius. Every prophecy to this date has _always_ come true. No one has ever managed to escape from it. Destiny always triumphs in the end."

The Minister let out a low moan of misery, while one of his Aurors fainted.

All the while, Dumbledore and the remaining Aurors stared on, completely baffled at what could have possibly caused the Minister to collapse and burst out into messy tears...

_'We need a new leader. Most definitely,' Dumbledore thought in despair. _

* * *

**Azkaban Cell**

* * *

Harry paused, jerking his eyes away from the ceiling at the sound of footsteps and hushed whispers coming his way. A dark smile flickered across his face as he heard a familiar simpering voice. A voice that he knew almost by heart. 

Cornelius Fudge. Minister of Magic.

The person who had single-handedly destroyed everything that Harry James Potter had once stood for - heroism, bravery, strength...and transformed the bloody bits and pieces into something better. Something special. Harry grinned as a harsh chuckle emerging from his lips.

_Yes. I am special now. Truly special. _

He leaned his head back against the protruding stone in the corner of his cell, emerald green eyes dull yet disturbingly thoughtful. Harry knew that he'd always been rather emotional. He cared to much about the opinions of others; he feared their rejection; he dreamed of their acceptances...of their love. And everyone, his so called friends, Dumbledore, his teachers...had been quick to exploit this weakness.

_'You're so called friends have been working for me all along...'_

Harry chewed the inside of his cheek thoughtfully. Perhaps it might be in his best interest to feign sanity...or perhaps insanity? He let out an experimental moan of pain, followed up with flinging his arms about randomly. He needed to do this; he _needed_ them to trust him for his plan to work. He needed them to believe that he of all people was still the weak pathetic pawn that he'd always been.

The footsteps froze mid-step before quickly hastening over.

Harry heard a sharp gasp and a man cursing softly under his breath, before he was gently lifted and cradled into his assailant's arms. He forced himself to project the image of an abused victim; of a child trapped within the depths of his deepest and darkest nightmares.

_'Come now. Show me what humanity is truly capable of...'_

He thrashed wildly about; he screamed bloody murder.

_'...show me you're true selves. No more hiding. No more lies.'_

He could hear the men trying to comfort him; he could hear their lies, their false assurances. Harry's eyes flickered open dazedly, before snapping shut, a wild animalistic cry of hate emerging from his mouth. He felt the Aurors snap into attention. He felt their hands against his arms - restraining him, holding him down...protecting him from himself.

And Harry continued. For he needed their sympathy. He needed them to belittle him; he needed them to pity him. And above all, he needed them to trust him...

_And what fool wouldn't trust a crazy abused child?_

"Harry m'boy," a familiar voice said softly. _Dumbledore's voice, Harry recognized._ "Fear not. You're safe now, you hear? I won't allow anyone to hurt you..."

Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes and 'accidentally' jabbed his foot smack into the old fool's face. The sound of shattering glasses and bone cracking resounded about the room...

And chaos erupted.

Aurors crashed headlong into one another; Fudge started babbling with fear and hugging Dumbledore's now bloodstained robes; and the Dementors...they floated about with an almost cheerful air as they sucked in the havoc and crazy emotions running about...

That is, until one brave Auror finally gathered his nerve.

"STUPEFY!"

And the boy-who-lost-his-soul fell into the warm arms of oblivion.

* * *

**Azkaban: The Departure**

* * *

Dumbledore pulled out his handkerchief and pinched the bridge of his nose, hoping against hope that he'd somehow be able to stop the bleeding. Or at the very least, prevent his nose from developing a distinctly Snape-like shape. _Merlin Forbid!_ And though he was perhaps the strongest and most renowned wizard of modern times, he had to admit... 

...he was absolutely shoddy at healing.

Give him a wand or a stick and he'd be able to easily wipe his opponent off the floor and even through an open window (it was once! just once!) But healing...

He'd most definitely pull a Lockhart.

Dumbledore tilted his head in contemplation as he watched the guard stun his most prized student point black, only to be knocked out by one of Harry's flailing limbs. And Fudge was currently watching the scene with horror written plainly across his face as he unconsciously latched himself against Dumbledore.

Hmm...how curious.

The headmaster had considered, during one of his sleepless nights, that perhaps there was a method to his madness. That perhaps he had associated with fools like Lockhart and Fudge on a daily basis for a...confidence boost? Or perhaps, dear Merlin, he had felt connected with the two idiots on some intrinsic level. After all, _they_ of all people couldn't be any better at healing then he, right?

"Alveo Episkey," Fudge murmured, pointing his wand at Dumbledore's nose, and waited for white bandages to appear and form a sort of cast around the older man's injury.

Dumbledore's eye twitched. _'Damn it.' _

The group of Aurors hastily jumped into action when they saw their comrade drop to the floor. One of them silently prodded Harry's leg as strands of white bandages emerged from his wand, creating a sort of white plaster cast. Another hesitantly poked the boy with his wand before sending another stunner at the fallen child 'just in case.' After all, seeing as how the safety of two of the most powerful men in wizarding Britain fell on their shoulders, they couldn't afford to take any risks.

"Albus?" Fudge said, staring strangely at the stunned figure on the ground. _I could have sworn that wizards couldn't possibly live without a soul. The Potter boy should have died within an hour or so of his 'execution.'_ He cleared his throat awkwardly, as he fiddled with his lime bowler hat. "Before I could release Potter into your jurisdiction, you need to sign his release form."

Dumbledore looked slightly miffed.

"It's standard ministry policy, you see," Fudge announced pompously. "Any high security prisoner who is being released into society _must_ have a guardian at least for the first few months. After all, the last thing we want is to let someone potentially...unstable back into our community. Thus, this is where you come in. If you sign the form, you will become Harry Potter's magical guardian until he...regains his very few mental capabilities..."

"Alright," Dumbledore agreed. "Where's the for-"

"But," Fudge interrupted, "as a guardian, you will be _legally_ responsible for everything that Potter will do. His health, his happiness, and his overall existence depends solely on you. And when I say _everything_ I mean _everything._" And thus, with a magnificent flourish, Fudge reached into his coat and pulled out a large brilliant manuscript and tossed it at Dumbledore's feat.

The headmaster picked it up and skimmed it over. Everything seemed about right. "There," he sighed, transfigurating a random piece of rubble into a black feathered pen and signed the form. "Now, Cornelius, may I take Harry back to Hogwarts?"

Fudge nodded awkwardly.

"Then in that case, farewell," Dumbledore stated, his beard twitching in amusement. "It was a pleasure working with you." With that said, Dumbledore promptly stepped on the only unwarded tile in the entire prison before Apparating away.

Fudge shifted uncomfortably.

_'It's only a matter of time till they find out the truth.' _

The Minister of Magic slumped dejectly against the stone wall, oblivious to the concerned queries from his Auror squad. And he was certain, undoubtedly so, that once Dumbledore found out...he would definitively be in for one hell of a shit storm. For he alone, had single-handedly destroyed Great Britain's one and only chance to win again You-Know-Who. Fudge paled even further at the thought of all the Howlers he'd be recieving.

_I so need a vacation..._


End file.
